I tried to laugh, choked. More blood stained my hands—it was welling from the wound, staining his tunic, pooling beneath him. His golden hair was already kissed red with it. Tears veiled my vision. I dared not let go of him long enough to wipe them away.
“That was a stupid thing to do, Rogan.”
“The stupidest.” He lifted a palm to my face. His hands were warm and rough with calluses—the same hands that had brushed wings of snow from my small shoulders, that had sketched a thousand charcoal drawings until his fingers were bruised black, that had caressed me in the dark. “But it was the only thing I could do. The only thing, in the end, that would set me free. And I am so glad, Fia, that I get… to die a free man.”
Roses of bloodstained spittle bloomed on his lips. He coughed, wetly.
“You’re not going to die.” The words were a lie and we both knew it. The blade had slipped between his ribs, damaging something vital. It was not a question ofif. It was a question ofhow long. “We’ve gotten out of worse scrapes, you and I. Come on—tell me you fancy fighting off an army of the dead with your own sword sticking from your chest.”
“I would, changeling. I really would. But I’m afraid I’ve… given up standing. I’d rather just lie here.” His face sobered, his crooked smile fading away. “Will you tell me something, Fia? Tell me… something true?”
The dead were flinging themselves bodily against my thorns, breaking their bones and leaving ribbons of their rotting flesh hanging from the flowers.
“Anything.”
“Do you think… if a great many things had been different, that you and I could have been happy?”
I hesitated. Rogan saw. Pressed a thumb to my lips, as if to cage the words he did not want to hear.
“No, no. Don’t answer that.” He smiled, sweet and slow. A line of red dribbled from the corner of his mouth. “Let me tell you something instead. You were… the best thing that ever happened to me. You stole my favorite weapons. You ate the best bits of food off my plate. I’m still convinced you trained that one hound to bite me whenever I passed by. But you… were my best friend and I loved—I love—” Another sickening, slurping cough stole away his words.This time his body racked with it, his spine curling as his head bowed. The blade shuddered, slicing deeper into his flesh. “I was so happy here—at Dún Darragh—although I did not know it at… the time. I had you all to myself, and I treasure those moments. Just us, and the greenhouse, and… the dirt on our hands.”
“Stop talking, princeling.” My tears were a deluge I could not stop. “You’re driving the blade deeper.”
“It’s all right,” he soothed, his thumb dragging salt along my cheek. “I don’t deserve your tears. I have… never deserved your tears. Just know… how glad I am. That once upon a time, for a very short time, you were mine. As I have been… ever yours.”
My voice was a caged and cowardly thing. Rogan coughed once more, and I knew he didn’t have long. His life thrummed restlessly beneath my palms like a caged bird that longed to fly free. I had but moments with him. Why didn’t I know what to say?
“Rogan—”
“You don’t have to… speak. There is nothing to say that has not already been said. I would ask… but one thing of you.” I nodded mutely. “Give me back to the forest, changeling.”
“No.”I was not sure what I was refusing—his request, or his death.
“Don’t you understand? If I die, I… belong to her. And I do not wish her to take me. She has taken enough. She has taken everything.” My tears were a waterfall I could not dam. “Do you remember what you did to Eimar, our first night here? You told me once it was not death… just a different kind of life.” I gave my head another shake. He clutched me in the moment before his weak hand fell from my cheek. The blue faded from his eyes, like the sun setting over the sea. “I’m sorry I didn’t… understand before. But I do now. And I want it… more than anything in the world. Let me have that. Please.”
What else could I do? I nodded.
He smiled, peace drifting over his features as his eyes slid shut. “It has been a privilege… to die for you.Fia.”
His life left his body on an exhale. I caught it in my hands, thenslammed them onto the ground with a cry that stole something vital from my soul. The Heart of the Forest throbbed like a kick to the chest. Power flooded my veins and coursed along my bones, pouring into the earth below Rogan’s motionless form.
I thought of his powerful figure, so tall and proud. Roots plunged between the cobblestones to the rock-splinted earth as a trunk coiled up, its bark the warm golden color of fair skin tanned by summer sun. I thought of his eyes, the mercurial blue-green of sunlit river stones. Moss jeweled the expanding spaces between his powerful roots. I thought of the shooting stars we used to watch from the high slate roof of Rath na Mara. Silver threads crept along his bark, poor adornment for his growing might. I thought of his hair, waving long and free over his freckled shoulders. The leaves bursting broad and true from his lofting branches were like hammered gold.
Ten feet. Twenty feet. Fifty feet rose the vast oak from the courtyard of Dún Darragh, until it towered nearly as high as the keep. And when the power thrumming through me finally slowed, I climbed to my feet, pulled the claíomh from where the trunk had nearly swallowed it, and stared up into the darkness between Rogan’s branches.
“Rest well.” I swiped tears from my cheeks with bloodstained fingers. “It will be a privilege… to kill her for you.Rogan.”
I turned. Shifted my grip on my blades—one long, one short. And bade my wall of briars to wilt.
The barrier collapsed. Hordes of thorn-shredded revenants lurched and scrabbled toward me. I dodged and feinted, slamming my dagger into soggy, rotting flesh as I struck out with Rogan’s sword. I fought toward Eala. Between the surging hordes of the massed dead, I saw her gray palfrey retreat to the fort; a pale figure dismounted and pushed open the doors of Dún Darragh.
I smiled, grimly. Around the massive oak splitting the courtyard in two, I carved a path for myself with glowing fists and blades alike. Then Dún Darragh opened before me with a crash.
Chapter Fifty
Fia
The great hall arched above me. I let a little of my starshine slip, illuminating the four broad pillars, the curving staircase, the carvings etched into the stone. In the space of a breath, the flagstones trembled beneath my feet and the great hall split in half, cracking open like an enormous egg. My breath was silver dust, and the air was sharp with new-quarried stone. Laughter chimed, bright as a bell. A breeze curled sinuously between the broad ribs of enormous oaks. I tasted sweetness on my tongue, and the tang of scorched metal.
